


Litost

by lumalore



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Purgatory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 15:43:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/737366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumalore/pseuds/lumalore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A re-imagining  of the Purgatory arc. WIP</p>
            </blockquote>





	Litost

The landscape seemed to change as quickly as the pale orbs not quite moons or suns rose and set and warped the sky to make a mockery of that earthly concept called Time. At times it was as unforgiving as the creatures that attacked them, shifting and undulating like a writhing beast. Even when it was quiet, Dean could feel the ground breathing. But there were other times like now where he could feel the silence, where it enveloped him like Cas’ wings when they stole moments of rest.

The mire underfoot turned to ruins in another gradual flash of rushing awareness that made Dean pause to shake off the wave of disorientation that followed. It was a strange feeling, like something just out of sight, a little ahead - or was it behind? - until all at once it was upon him with staggering omnipotence. Everything, even the land itself, seemed to vie for control here. The power of gods seemed to surge unbounded, in the clawing swipes of the mindless monsters they fended off hourly, in the twisted spirals of gray trees looming like solid shadows, in the whispers of the mists that made the heavy air tremble, made the outline of Cas’ wings shimmer into existence and back into non-being. When the angel walked ahead as he did now, Dean trembled too.

Slowly, he felt himself becoming undone. By the things he witnessed, by the eerie screams he heard half-stifled in the night or whatever the hell that darker darkness could be called. If Cas had noticed, he said nothing.

Impossible towers now arched overhead with a strange ferocity and grace; they reminded Dean of how Cas used to be before he’d been broken by the madness he’d taken on. It wasn’t just saving Sam that had done it, Dean could see that now. It was everything. All the betrayal, the lies, the war, the loss of his garrison, it had tortured his soul long before he’d tried to set things right with Sammy. His grace was as tattered as his trenchcoat, literally. Dean could see it, whenever that power of Purgatory flared, no matter if it was a creature ripping through their clothes or reality-shattering, haunting sounds ripping through their ears and shaking their very cores, Castiel’s grace flickered. They were tired. All the weight of their sins and failures pressed in on them from one side, while Purgatory the other, and there was nothing more for them to do but match such persistence with their own. Dean felt like he had lived lifetimes, and he wondered what was ancient to an angel. His eyes screamed for rest as much as his body, but there was no time. He didn't understand how there could be no time in a place where time did not exist, but at the same time, it made sense. To push the paradoxes out of his head, he traced the curves and spires of the towers with his eyes, forcing them wide open. Somehow, they made him think of abandoned pantheons, their beauty warped and wilting. They too were old. Old as balls, Bobby might have said. He was glad Bobby wasn't here to see them, though. He thought of him, of Sam, of his parents, of Jo and Ellen and Ash, of Kevin and Garth, and he ached.

The structures grew taller and more complex until Dean couldn't bear to be alone with his thoughts anymore. “What are these damn things?” he asked. He grimaced slightly, averting his gaze. It almost hurt to look at them. His eyes stung with a strange pressure, as though he'd been staring into bright light. Something in his chest twinged, and he focused on the muted wash of umber-stippled beige of Cas' trenchcoat. "Cas?"

“Thought-forms,” the angel finally answered from over his shoulder. “I can sense traces of humanity within them. They’re collections of lost thoughts, I think. Neither good nor evil, they simply exist. They’ve no allegiance, so we may be able to use them to fight.”

“But if they’re created by humans, why are they here in Purgatory?”

“They are the lorn remnants of all things forgotten, lost hopes, plans forgone, and dreams destroyed. It’s a funny thing, the human mind. It can conjure up the most fantastic ideas, but sometimes its magic falters and it forgets. A thought that escapes one’s consciousness is a very sad thing. It can’t return from where it came, so it must wander for eternity. Reminds me of the bees,” Cas mused with a slight smile. Dean rolled his eyes. “Sometimes, someone else’s Will may call to them, and they will enter that person’s mind and find a new home. Other times, ideas remain perpetually unwanted, and they begin to fade. Yet they cannot be killed entirely. So this is where they go.”

Dean opened his mouth with no response ready. It seemed Castiel’s profundity was somehow heightened here, yielding a hollow semblance of his old self that Dean both welcomed and feared. But those moments were often short-lived, and this one proved no different. The angel’s grace glowed as a low growl reverberated through the air, and even as the sound pierced through him like a shockwave, Dean watched as Castiel too grimaced. Dean wanted to apologize, to touch his shoulder and give him strength, but there was no time.

“They’re coming.”


End file.
